The Cursed Child
by Briar DeVante
Summary: Hadrian 'Harry' Potter has been persuaded by his mother to marry the Gaunt's only daughter but was unaware of her illegitimate son, Tom. He takes the child in after seeing the conditions the boy lives in but is caught off guard when his new stepson seems to become darker. Non-con!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **The Bastard**

Brilliant green eyes lock onto the large onyx ones through the window, it's slightly warped reflection speaks of many reparo spells.

The dark pair blinks and the owner takes a step back, his bare feet crunching on the fallen leaves. His nose was pink and running, a few bruises peppered his legs and arms, but despite this, the child manages to convey a regal presence that reminds the green-eyed man of many Pureblood children he's met.

The man watches as the child turns heel and runs towards the forest, he contemplates calling out and letting the child in, as it was getting dark out, but he was interrupted.

"Hadrian?" He turns back and automatically smiles charmingly at the admittedly charmless woman.

Her eyes still wandered to opposite sides, making him wonder if their children will have the same as it seems to be a hereditary trait from the supposed noble Gaunt Family. She picks at her worn gray clothes, white once but dulled from too many washes. His nails are bitten to the quick and shined from hard labor, from what he doesn't know, as it obviously hasn't gone into the house they were in.

He comes back to his senses when he sees that her hands are shaking slightly, "Harry." The curtain of lanky black hair bobs upward when he speaks, "Just Harry." He can see her grip tighten on the bouquet of white roses. She had a vice grip on them ever since he'd placed them in her hands.

She gives a thin smile though her cheeks redden slightly, a bright contrast to her pale skin. She looks as though she wants to say something else but then the Gaunt Patriarch makes his presence known, in his usual abrupt rough way.

"When will we get the money?" Marvolo grunts, as he has been reminding Harry since the moment he crossed the threshold of the door. The elderly man leans over the slightly wobbly table, his patience has run out.

Harry frowns slightly, "The _dowry_ can be given now as long as you sign the contract." He had to trail off slightly as the older man picks up the waiting quill and signs the parchment before he was finished speaking. The man then places his hand out across the table, knocking it a few times on the surface pointedly.

The young man reluctantly brings out the negotiated sum in a magically shrunken bag. The thump of 50,000 galleons is heavy in the air. The woman flinches slightly at the sound before turning to stare down at her hands.

Marvolo, shakes the container roughly, as though he can verify the amount even though Harry knows for a fact that the Gaunt's haven't had more than 100 galleons in their vaults in over 200 years. He could only be grateful that the supposed insane son is still in Azkaban as one of his coworkers that works in Improper Use of Magic office, reassured him shortly before coming here but advised him to still keep his wand close to him.

While the man is busy feeling the purse, Harry quietly takes the contract and places it in his brief case. He wildly contemplates for a moment if he should just rip it up but remembers that he has too much at stake, not only from the Potter Line but also his mother's.

He turns to smile again at the shaking woman, "Merope?" She jumps slightly at the sound of her name, as if she hadn't heard anyone say it before. She peeks out of her hair again and nods timidly.

"Who was that boy outside the house?" Judging by the clothes looking suspiciously the same quality and design as hers, he realized the child must be a family member. She blanches to a sickly gray color, her grip on the flowers has twisted them beyond recognition.

The older man snorts slightly, "That's the bastard. The one she had with that filthy muggle from down the road." He smiles at her cruelly, "Came back didn't ya? After the filth dumped you and the boy." Harry leans back sharply before looking out the window again.

His mind races, his mother had reassured him that there were no children but then again, he wouldn't show up on the family's tapestry if he wasn't a pureblood, as he would have to be recognized by Marvolo to be able to inherit.

Must be the reason they were so eager to sign today, he thinks with growing resentment but he squashes it down harshly as he is a man of action and doesn't have time to dwell on what could have been. He feels a headache come on and has to take a few deeper breaths as he gathered himself.

He supposed he couldn't blame the family for not telling him, as they are not in a position to lose a suitor, and he has to curse himself for not being more suspicious over their eagerness. It was truly well played.

There were two options to this, the child would stay here and the head of the house will decide his fate, something that brings a cold pit in Harry's stomach. Or he could come with them, which will lead to a whole slew of uncertain consequences.

He realizes that his mother will not tolerate a bastard in his household, for fear that many may think that he was his. Even his much more sympathetic father will have similar reservations, as well as worrying about the inheritance issues that will arise if Merope and him have children.

But he remembers the bruises, patterned like cords on the child's body and the cold tone his grandfather uses when speaking of him. And the horror of his uncle, who was in jail for cursing muggles for pleasure. No, this child would not survive here.

He cursed his Gryffindor heart.

"Would you mind if he comes with us?" He asks the still chortling man, making him choke slightly.

He pushes forward before the man could recover, "He may not be an official member of the household but I would not be opposed to giving him a home." If his mother is truly against him, then he will hire a nanny and the boy will be raised in seclusion in a nearby estate.

The man's eyes bulge, "You want to take it?" The veins in his neck now strain as the man seems to be working his way to a heart attack.

"You, from two noble households, want to take that?" He hisses in incompressible language, making the hairs on the young man neck rise. He's not entirely sure if he wants to know what the man is saying.

He stands up, scooting in the slightly lopsided chair, "Yes, if anything, he could be used as a spare if Merope and I can't conceive." Which will most likely be the reason he will tell his parents, he can already feel his ears ringing from the fights that will ensue later.

The man seems to calm down as he narrows his eyes shrewdly. On one hand, this is advantageous to the Gaunt family as this guarantees the furthering and prestige of their lineage, which would be lost if Merope and him do not conceive an heir. It will be looked down upon and it will tarnish the family name slightly with the possibility of a bastard gaining some of his family's holdings but the child will not have the seats in The House of Lords as Harold is the head of the Potter family and Orion already has been declared heir of the House of Black.

Because of this, he felt a sick sense a dread when the man hesitates to take this generous offer. At first, he considered that Marvolo didn't have the same training most purebloods or was just unaware of heritage laws. But then, he recalled that the man was aware enough to see the advantages to this marriage so that only leaves the man just being so malicious to his grandson that he didn't want him to have any advantage in life.

Feeling sick from the coldness emanating from this man, he looks over to his bride.

She has a strange expression on her face, her thin eyebrows are furrowed and her mouth is slightly downturned. There was no happiness that he was going to take the child in or gratitude, making him feel even more sick.

He finally speaks, "Where will he most likely be?" He wanted to tell the child to pack up his possessions, if he had any, and also to have a chance to introduce himself. He doubted the child knew he was coming, as he had done this on short notice after the incident with the Weasley Family.

Merope speaks up with a morose tone, "In the forest by the clearing."

He takes off quickly, unable to take the toxic atmosphere of the Gaunts.

Walking through the woods, he realizes how cold it has gotten, as it was almost November and worries about the boy, who was only clad in a flimsy shirt and shorts. He wonders why the boy wouldn't have been given a scarf or a sweater as Merope and Marvolo had them on but then again, he supposes that it wouldn't have been in the child's size.

He ends up in a small clearing, surrounded by bare trees and dead leaves. There was frost forming on some of the piles of leaves and it was so dark out that he could barely make out the boy, who was sitting on the ground.

He turns to look up at Harry with hard eyes, "Who are you?"

Harry smiles softly but it just seems to make him more on edge. After a few moments of tense silence, he opts to go with the formal and direct method.

"Hadrian Cygnus Potter, and I am your stepfather as of today." The boy frowns more severely before replying coldly.

"Why do you want to marry her?" He tilts his head to the side with genuine perplexation. He supposes to a child, this would be a valid one considering his mother has no money, looks, and from what he can see, personality to her name.

He wonders if answering truthfully will result in a better start to their relationship or if it was turn the child against him. He feels uncomfortable lying to a child and he doubts it will work on this particular child, whose eyes bore into him with eerie intelligence.

"The Gaunts are related to many prestigious families and it is a good match if you consider their legacy. My mother encouraged this as it is a rare chance to marry into their family." Not only because of the Gaunt's preference of their own blood, but also Merope happens to be the same age as him, and there is no one else asking for her hand.

The child pauses for a few moments, before going to look at the ground. He doesn't say anything for a few moments, so Harry decides to try and continue the conversation.

"What's your name?" The boy shifts slightly.

"Tom." Harry smiles before coming to sit in the dirt next to him. His mother will argue with him later for messing up Acromantula silk robes but he reasoned that he could get another set soon.

He turns to see Tom peeking up at him, "How old are you Tom?"

The anger in the boy's eyes startles him, both in intensity and suddenness, "I'm seven but you don't have to treat me like that." His lips pursue in a tight line.

Harry blinks, "Like what?"

"Like I'm stupid." Tom glares, and in that moment Harry is struck by how similar him and his grandfather look.

The man stares in bewilderment, "I don't think you're stupid." He mumbles softly. The child furrows his eyebrows as he surveys the man's earnest face with great seriousness. Harry watches as the child seems to struggle with his thoughts, darting glances at his face. After a few seconds, he seems to have come to a conclusion.

"Am I going to live with you?" He frowns slightly.

Relieved, Harry tries to smile in a reassuring way, "Only if you'd like."

"Can I go with you now?" Tom's eyes dart back in the direction of the house.

Slightly unnerved by the child's eagerness, the man is unsure of how to respond. He decides to go with the original plan as he would still have to explain to his parents about the situation. He also would most likely have to bring Merope, and the tradition states the bride should remain in her family's house until the actual ceremony, yet he didn't want to leave the child. He sees the tenseness to the boy's shoulders as he stares at the ground and remembers how Marvolo reacted when he requested the child come with them.

He reckons that he is already breaking quite a few traditions by taking in the child, and decides to suffer his mother's wrath.

"Come on, we'll pick up your things." Harry stands and wait for Tom to hesitantly do the same.

The boy mumbles, "I don't really have anything."

A lump forms in the man's throat but he pushes forward and walks back to the house with the child in tow. The boy tries to keep pace with the man but struggles for a few yards. Harry slows down ever so slightly, as to not hurt the child's pride.

They walk in tense silence, neither one of them feeling like breaking it.

When the reach the front door, Harry pauses to look at Tom before opening it. Only to see the boy staring at it with great stoicism. He turns the handle and walks in to see Merope already standing there with a large frayed handbag.

Harry pauses at the sight of it, "I was thinking of having the both of you come with me early. It will be easier to plan the wedding at our estate." She nods meekly before coming to stand next to them, she reaches over to clasp her hand on the child's shoulder, to which he accepts with stony silence. The man wondered if Marvolo pressed her to leave with him as he does not object to the breaking of tradition.

"There will be no wedding." Marvolo spits from his chair, "At least not one I'll go to." Harry presses his lips in a tight line at the man's words but doesn't argue as it was really only necessary for the bride and groom to officiate the marriage. The head of the household's only responsibility has already been achieved.

He notices that neither Merope or Tom seem to be too bothered. In fact, the woman looks slightly more relaxed as she clutches on to Harry's sleeve. With a little prompting from his mother, the boy does the same.

Harry takes a deep breath before turning on his heel and they vanish.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **New Home**

Within a few seconds, they arrive at a charming manor of four stories. The lawn has been expertly cared for by charms and the workers that occasionally come by to upkeep. There are a few white rose bushes under the wide paned windows by the front door, some of the flowers missing as he had wanted to give Merope a gift with a more personal effect. Their delicate perfume makes the, in Harry's opinion, ostentatious manor seem more soft and familial. The home itself was of a Victorian design with its high vaulted ceilings and sophisticated décor, all of which is mother had insisted on when he had left home.

They were surrounded by some of the other wealthy families, not as prestigious as the Potters but of a noteworthy variety: The Greengrass, Nott, Goyle, and Crabbe families are some of the ones that reside here. They were separated by ten-foot hedges that resembled walls as they encircled around the estate. However, they still had a sizeable backyard where a young child can run around without feeling claustrophobic.

Harry begins to take a few steps towards the entrance but pauses when he notices his company is not following him. He turns around to see that both his bride and stepson were marveling the estate with their mouths slightly agape. Tom snaps back to attention when he notices Harry smiling at them softly and stomps over the cobblestone path to stand beside him. Merope takes a few more seconds before she notices that her son is giving her a severe look and she ducks her head with blushing cheeks.

Harry frowns at the boy for silently reprimanding his mother, to which the child narrows his eyes challengingly. Feeling that he'd rather not get into an argument with the newly acquainted stepson, he ignores it and opens the door.

The first floor was the most expansive with the front room greeting them. There was a large white staircase that trailed up to the second floor, a dark wooded door seen at the top. The room branched off into three hallways. To the left, led to the dining room which can easily house twenty people. The first door on the right was a large living room, a fireplace blazing cheerfully. The next hallway led to the kitchen, something Harry himself rarely used.

Tom takes initiative to explore; he trails near the library and study room down the hallway next to the kitchen.

It had originally been a family room but Harry rarely had guests to entertain and had decided to convert the space. He had taken quite a few books from his mother's collection and wonders now if he should restrict the area until he can gather and ward them.

"Tom," The boy turns around at his name and narrows his eyes suspiciously, "It would be better if you stay out of the library for a bit. Just until I can get rid of the more dangerous books; you can pick out your room from upstairs." He makes sure to add the last statement as the child looks ready to protest.

After a few moments of a silent standoff, Harry wonders if the boy will listen to him and tries to calculate what he'll do but it wasn't needed, as Tom trudges sullenly upstairs.

He turns to Merope, who has been silent during this entire exchange.

He smiles softly as he notices that her hands grasping the handbag are trembling slightly. He notices that there are small cuts on her fingers from the thorns of the flowers and curses himself for not removing them beforehand. He also notices that she had not brought them with her and reasons that it was because of his thoughtless decision.

"Come here." He tenses slightly when he notices her shoulders stiffen at his words.

She shuffles towards him with her head bowed.

He carefully takes one of her hands, "I have some salve for you." Episkey tended to itch for quite a while afterwards and he didn't want to add another discomfort to her day.

Her head jerks up and she gazes at him for a moment before dropping her gaze back to ground. He notes that her eyes are actually quite lovely, almond shaped and had long eyelashes.

Guiding her into the back of the hallway, he turns into the study room.

His father was actually the one to insist in this atrocity. The desk was so large that it took up half of the room, perfect for placing his feet up. He appreciated the tall bookshelves that enclosed the room and the wide window behind his seat where he can watch the birds play in the ceramic bath that his friend Hermione had gifted to him.

While Fred and George's enormous stone phallic garden decoration made for an interesting house warming gift, he had regifted it to his cousin Harold, as he was the type to appreciate it. Now that he thought about it, he only kept Hermione's gift out of all his friends besides Luna's fairy garden.

Reaching into one of the drawers in the desk, he pulls out a specially made astringent and healing salve that his mother made him not too long ago.

He unscrews the unnecessarily bejeweled lid and scoops some of the salve onto his fingers. Reaching for her hand, he paints her fingers with the substance, taking great care to cover every abrasion. He looks up to see her staring at him with a strange expression.

Before he could decipher it, she had already returned her gaze to her hand.

He wipes his hand with a handkerchief produced from his back pocket before coughing slightly.

"There is a room upstairs for you on the second floor. I am in the master bedroom above you if you need me." Having her stay in his quarters, even for him, is a tad too scandalous.

She finally speaks in a surprisingly clear voice, "Thank you."

There was nothing else needed to be said and he manages to nod awkwardly before heading upstairs to his bedroom. He runs into Tom on the way up; the child had been standing in the hallway of the second floor with a scowl on his face.

Harry inclines his head questioningly, but the child continues to glare at him as though he had broken some unspoken rule. His mind whirls as he feels unreasonably chastened by this small but imposing child.

"I'm hungry." The boy sighs impatiently.

Harry starts slightly and claps his hands sharply, "Tilly."

With a harsh snap, the loyal house elf appears in the hallway. Her neat black and white uniform was pressed and crisp as always. She looks surprised to see Tom and Harry quickly orders her before her maternal instincts catch up with her and she smothers the boy.

"Please make dinner for three." She jerkily nods her head with such enthusiasm that her whole body follows the motion before vanishing with another snap downstairs.

The child seems to still be unsatisfied as his arms remained crossed. He worries his lower lip with his teeth before commanding in a cold voice, "I need clothes too." His eyes bore into Harry's and his entire posture is defiant.

At lost with what to do, Harry decides that the request was not unreasonable.

"I can arrange tailors to come in tomorrow." He tries to remain impassive as the child continues to glare at him with icy intensity.

The boy's expression becomes more certain after his demands were met and he seems to want to ask for something else but reconsiders and stomps back into his presumably chosen room. Rather he decides to stay in that one is of no consequence as there were several on this floor and he would only be sharing with his mother for a while.

Sighing softly, Harry walks another flight to go his room.

His cousin Abraxas had scoffed at his choice, "The colors don't even match." The entire room was bright yellow and fiery red, even the curtains were of the same design. The was a king-sized bed with a red comforter and made of dark wood. The bathroom was attached and had all the amenities. A golden snitch darted around his head, as if to welcome him.

He breathes with much less effort and goes to sit next to the stone fire place on his armchair that he had actually stolen with the twins back in his school days from the common room. He contemplates putting off the call for a moment but decides to get it over with as his mother was most likely waiting for him.

He tosses a handful of floo powder into the flames before intoning, "Lion's den."

Not even a pause, his mother's head appears in the fireplace, "So?" He sighs as she raises her eyebrow at him.

Not seeing the need to say anything, he flicks his wand and his briefcase unshrinks from his back pocket and lands on the floor beside him. He pulls out the contract from it and holds it out for his mother to see.

She smiles brittlely, "I told your father that everything would be alright." She says airily, and Harry can hear his father's voice echo in the background, "I wasn't too worried!" She rolls her green eyes and gives her son a long-suffering look.

"Now tell me," Harry fights the urge to groan at her eager expression, "What is she like?"

There had been little knowledge of the Gaunts in the last two hundred years, only an occasional mention in The Prophet about recent arrests. They haven't attended a single gathering in years and their marriages had been a private affair.

He considers how to describe her, "She has interesting eyes." He swallows, "And a nice smile."

Dorea Potter-Black gives him an unimpressed look, "Honestly Hadrian, it's no wonder you have been a bachelor for so long." She tuts, "No, tell me about her personality." What personality?

He shakes off the slightly cruel thought, "She seems… to be very docile. I don't think her home life was very nurturing."

Charlus Potter's voice booms in the background, "Is she pretty?"

Harry's expression becomes neutral, "She's not a looker." He admits reluctantly.

It hadn't been high on his mother's priorities, but she was slightly vain and would prefer beautiful grandchildren. However, if that was all she wanted then she would have agreed with his earlier engagement.

Her lips thin slightly and she seems to consider asking for more specifics but thinks better of it.

"They agreed to everything?" They hadn't even looked at the contract before signing, but that was no matter. It had been a simple agreement that stipulated that all holdings were to be given to their future children and a few mentions of Merope's inheritance, if she had any.

However, his face must have given something away as his mother narrowed her eyes at him and pursed her lips. He fights the urge to scoot his chair back from the fireplace.

"What happened?" He can't help but feel slightly offended by unsurprised tone.

He fidgets slightly, "There was a child." He hurries in one breath before his mother could explode, "She had an illegitimate child and he's staying with us." He gazes at the floor guiltily.

The stony silence that follows makes him want to cringe. He refuses to look into her eyes and has to grimace when he hears rustling from the fireplace before his father's face pops next to his mother's.

Charlus soft brown eyes warmly assess him, "So," The older man smiles reassuringly, "There was a child?" Harry nods jerkily before launching into a prepared speech.

"You should have seen the boy and the house he was living in. His grandfather was happy to see him go but seemed bitter by the fact he's going somewhere better." His father's expression softens even more and surer of himself, Harry continues with a steadier voice.

"There might be a chance Merope and I cannot conceive, and the child would be perfect for a spare without our holdings being absorbed into Fleamont's future inheritance or Orion's." He finally has the courage to glance at his mother.

It was the main reason why his mother had chosen the Gaunts, as his previous fiancée had been too closely tied with the Blacks and his mother did not want to lose some of the Potter's holdings to her relatives if he had failed to have an heir. She was still bitter by their near disownment of her when she had married his father and would loathe to see them profit from the all too real risk of the blight.

The blight was the term used to describe the inability to have a child from pureblood heirs. The generations of consanguineous marriages had led to overwhelming infertility rates and was the reason his parents had conceived him so late in their life. While, this could have been fixed if he had married his earlier fiancée due to her family's reputation of fertility, his mother had thought of the match as beneath him for various reasons.

Her face is impassive, but her voice contained her fury, "Why did you take the child with you?"

She doesn't even wait for an answer and her voice rises with each word, "You know how this will look to the public. What are you going to do, when the child reaches school age? Slap a generic name to him and pass him off as a muggleborn?" She takes a deep calming breath.

"Take the boy back to his household and have them deal with him." He steels himself at her words, sitting up straighter and leaning closer to the fire.

"I can't." Her eyes glint warningly but he continues on, "I already promised to take him in. He's downstairs resting."

"HADRIAN-." His mother remembers herself and shuts her mouth before disappearing from his sight. He can hear her footsteps clacking away and then pacing nearby.

His father gives him a sympathetic wince, "She'll calm down." Harry snorts.

"No really, you know that she's just worried about your future." His expression becomes grave, "An illegitimate child would be not as much as a stigma as it was in my day, but it still won't be easy." Harry nods and his father smiles softly at him.

"I know you Harry." His eyes shine proudly at his son, "You've always been kind. And you may be right, if you cannot have an heir, this may be a better option." His smile dims for a moment, "We will have to make it clear that this child is not yours, but I doubt people will listen besides your dear friends. Most likely, you will be judged for your assumed slip."

The younger man sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, as the earlier headache had made its reappearance. He was well aware of the fact, everyone will assume the child is his. Especially because they did have a slight resemblance with their dark hair and pale skin.

People will presume he had the child in his middle teen years and scorn him even more harshly. In this age, most assume that women are incapable of such affairs and would scoff at any perceived attempt to reveal the truth.

He rubs his forehead, "I know." No other words needed to be said.

Charlus shifts slightly in the frame before adjusting his wire rimmed glasses, "I'll talk with your mother tonight but Harry, you have to consider what fate the child will suffer if you do have an heir."

The flames recede and he is left alone in the dim room with lingering doubts.


End file.
